


Interlude 1: Like a Phoenix from the Ashes

by JulisCaesar



Series: At the End of All Things [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Blatant threats, Chekhov's Gun, Gen, Genocide, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Narvin's making shitty life choices again it's a thing, Not so blatant threats, Self Harm, gallifrey s6 spoilers, like all the gallifrey s6 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulisCaesar/pseuds/JulisCaesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War has gone on forever, unchanging, infinite in its destruction. Gallifrey never expected to be on the frontlines, never had a plan for what to do if the general alarms went off.</p><p>The alarms have gone off. And only President Romana, clinging to power by her fingertips, has any idea what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Budget cuts meant that Narvin didn’t hear the alarm until the door to his office whirred open. A determination to cause everyone else as much inconvenience as they caused him meant that he didn’t look up from his paperwork until another mind nudged his.

“Agent.”

Narvin shuffled the papers once and then turned his attention to the other Time Lord. “Sir.”

Coordinator Albia glared at him. “Haven’t you heard the alarms?”

“Yes,” he said dryly, “I was _obviously_ just ignoring them.”

“ _Agent_ ,” Albia snapped.

Narvin stood slowly, the alarm in the corridor making his head pound. “My rank is not high enough to give me an alarm.”

Albia visibly clenched her jaw. “You need to join the evacuation team.”

“No.” Narvin kept himself from reacting, held the emotions back from his face and upper mind. He didn’t want to leave. He _didn’t_. Plus, Romana wouldn’t want any CIA Agents getting off; he knew how untrustworthy they were, and they would only cause trouble for her.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Agent, there are _Daleks_.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really, Coordinator? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I am offering you a chance to live.” Albia clasped her hands behind her back, looking somewhere between exasperation and panic.

Narvin returned to his seat. “And I am refusing it.”

“I am your Coordinator,” Albia bit out.

He twisted his lips into a smile. “You plainly haven’t read my file. I don’t follow orders.”

She stepped forward, doing her best to loom over him. “You followed Romana’s.”

“Who you are not,” he snapped back. “You can’t intimidate me, Coordinator.” He smirked at her.

Albia stared at him. “Narvin, _please_ come.”

Her tone sent shivers down his back. “Why?” he asked flatly. “She doesn’t want me.”

“Because, whether you like it or not, I am under orders, and those are to ensure that you make it off Gallifrey alive. Now _move_!”

 He bristled, not leaving his seat. “Under whose orders?” He hated this, hated the not knowing, the confusion and guesswork. Hated that Gallifrey was being invaded and he didn’t even have enough information to know how to respond, let alone the power to do so effectively.

Albia drew her staser, hands shaking. “It doesn’t matter. You’re to get on that evacuation ship and leave this planet.”

Narvin spread his hands. “Then shoot me. The Daleks have no intention of letting me live.”

Albia gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m not going to _kill_ you. My employer needs you alive. Stasers have a stun function,” she said in the air of someone explaining something absurdly simple.

Narvin glared at her steadily. “ _Who_ needs me alive?”

“No one I’m authorized to tell you about,” Albia said, clicking the safety off on the staser. “ _Move_ , Coordinator, or I will carry you.”

Squaring his shoulders, Narvin looked up at her. “I am not the Coordinator.”

Albia’s eyes flickered away from him briefly. “Not currently.”

Narvin froze, not breathing. He wasn’t the Coordinator, and wasn’t going to be promoted again unless someone else became President. “You’re planning to betray her.”

“No!” Albia snapped, visibly surprised. “No.”

He snarled, hand scrabbling in his upper drawer for the staser he kept there. “She won’t promote me, not anymore. How are you planning to make me Coordinator _and_ keep her in power?”

Albia had her mouth open to respond when the world tilted. Nails scraped across the back of Narvin’s mind as something he couldn’t define cracked, shattering through his consciousness. His senses overloaded, telepathic centre unable to handle the input and so rerouting it to other sensory cortices. Albia hissed; Narvin hunched over in his seat and tried to get a grasp on his mental shields. They snapped into position a moment later, holding the assault off.

He looked up at the same moment she got her shields up as well. He knew he looked better than she did—this was not the first time he had dealt with this, while Albia plainly was out of her depth and confused. “What in Rassilon’s name was that?” she burst out.

Narvin stood, out of options and out of time. If the barrier was down—Gallifrey was lost—he was disposable but—maybe he could help— “The transduction barrier falling. We need to go.”

“ _Now_ you change your tune.” Albia shuddered. “How do you know?”

“I’ve been through it before,” Narvin said tersely, putting the memories behind a separate layer of shields. He didn’t need to think about that now. “You can guarantee me a place on the ship?”

 She frowned. “Yes, but—”

“ _Move_ , Coordinator!” Narvin stepped out from behind his desk, glaring at her as she blocked the way out of his cramped office. “You wanted me on that ship, I will get on that ship. And then we’re going to talk about your employer.”

Albia stepped to the side, frowning. “Why?”

Narvin engaged the manual override on the door, shoving it open. The light strips  were flickering, and the closest alarm was still blaring on three senses. “The President needs me.”

Albia’s shoes scuffed against the floor as she followed him out. “She has Leela.”

“How fabulous for her,” Narvin snapped. “Where’s the ship?”

Her mind nudged against his, dropping the information in. He stumbled, blinking. “So near?”

Holstering her staser, Albia pushed past him. “Yes. Is now the time to whine?”

Narvin sighed. The Citadel shook and he could hear the screams of the dying even through his shields. What Romana, tied into the hivemind at a level infinitely deeper than his, must be feeling was painful to think about. “Why’d she put it so close?” Close to the CIA. Close to people who had betrayed her in the past and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again. Close to him.

“I told her my offices were on this side of the CIA section,” Albia said calmly. “She assumed I was lying, and, in an effort to keep the ship away from me but still gain the extra CIA protections, parked it down here.”

He tripped on air as a member of his former House died, her howls echoing through his mind. “And you found out about the location how?”

She snorted. “Bribed a guard, how else? The Scendles are always looking for cash.”

He wanted to take offence, wanted to tear a strip off her for double-crossing Romana, but Gallifrey was dying and Albia was his only way to help his President. “I don’t trust you,” he said futilely.

“Of course you don’t. I don’t trust you either but here we are.” She turned down a smaller corridor, Narvin following quickly. “We should be able to—”

Leela stood at the end of the corridor, next to a plain grey TT Capsule. “Narvin!” She practically radiated excitement, grinning at him. “Romana, I _told_ you we should wait, see?”

The President stepped out of the Capsule, leaving the door open behind her. “Coordinator. Impeccable timing, as always.”

Narvin opened his mouth to respond, remembered, and closed it again.

Albia continued walking. “I do try. Two more for your escape ship, Madam President.”

Romana’s eyes flickered over them briefly, resting on Narvin. “No,” she said, voice faint. “Come, Leela. We need to leave before the Daleks start landing.”

“Are you deaf?” Narvin burst out, furious and terrified. “They _have_ landed. Your people are _dying_.”

Albia paused. “That is a very good point, Agent. Madam President, why _are_ your people dying? Wasn’t the _point_ of the transduction barrier to prevent events such as this?”

Shivering, Romana looked away. She looked horrid; skin pasty, she had clearly lost weight, and her hands were constantly trembling. “The Daleks do not have the technology to get through the barrier.”

Narvin frowned, putting the pieces together. “You gave the codes away.” It didn’t seem quite real, that their destruction would come at both their hands: his for antagonising the Daleks to begin with, hers for letting others get through their defences.

Romana nodded. “Yes, I gave our allies codes to the transduction barrier. Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“I really don’t think that matters right now.” Albia stepped forward. “Gallifrey is falling, there is no way around that, and we need to get off it now.”

“Thank you, Coordinator,” Romana said, looking as if the words stuck in her throat. “Leela.” It sounded like she was trying to snap and utterly failing.

“Romana, I will not leave Narvin here to die.” Leela crossed her arms, looking more stubborn than usual.

With a sigh, Romana nodded. “Come on then, if you must. Coordinator, I want a full explanation the moment we dematerialize.” She vanished back inside the TT Capsule, leaving the two CIA Agents and Leela in the corridor.

Albia shrugged, following the President in. “You live, I live, could be worse honestly.”

Narvin very nearly made a comment but Leela tackled him at that moment, knocking the air from his tubes. “It is _good_ to see you again!”

Narvin didn’t bother peeling her off, instead giving her a bemused look. “Hello, savage.”

Leela laughed, punching his shoulder. “I have not missed that name.” She pulled back, frowning. “You did not come to see me.”

“I was a bit busy,” Narvin commented.

She huffed at him. “You could have _visited_.”

He made to move around her, focused on the ship. “I am no longer welcome in the presidential quarters.”

Leela put a hand on his chest, effectively stopping him. “You were welcome in _my_ quarters.”

Grabbing her wrist, Narvin looked down at her. Biting back the instant harsh response, he said instead, quietly, “Thank you.”

She beamed at him, pulling him onto the ship.

* * *

 

CIA Coordinators apparently existed to make Romana’s life difficult; Albia had been a good, solid worker who had almost bucked the trend until she showed up with _Narvin_ in tow, demanding that both of them be taken.

She had dragged the capsule into the Vortex, doing her best to ignore its screams. She couldn’t shut her telepathy down—her connection to Time was the only one they had with the ship the way it was, and so her mind was wide open and scraped raw. The instant they were aloft, she’d sent Leela into the depths of the ship to help Elbon stabilize all of the Gallifreyans who had already regenerated. She mentally rattled off the facts, checking and double-checking her plan _._ Regeneration caused paradoxes, paradoxes were stabilized by the Eye of Harmony, Gallifrey was about to be blown up, but fortunately for everyone, TARDISes—or TT Capsules—could be used in lieu of the Eye itself.

Albia cleared her throat politely. She was standing next to the console, not touching it, but rather staring intently at the central column. “What have you done to her? The ship, what’s wrong with her?”

“It,” Romana said faintly, holding onto the console. “I had to make some modifications.”

“Lady President,” Albia said after a nanospan, voice carefully controlled. “What modifications?”

Romana looked up, eyes staring past her. It shouldn’t have been that hard to think, she didn’t even _like_ Albia, not any more, so she should just be able to— “Increased telepathic shields. Increased sensory shields. Decreased weapons systems. Increased speed. Decreased long term power. Increased accuracy. Decreased independence. Increased paradox support. Increased evasive manoeuvres. Removed the consciousness.” If she said the words flatly enough maybe she could ignore their meaning.

Albia jerked, eyes wide. “You _what_?”

“Circumstances may have changed, Coordinator,” Romana said coldly, looking up at the other Time Lady “But you will treat me with respect.”

Narvin snarled aloud, his mind a rush of prickles that scraped painfully against hers. “Why did you save me?” He stood just barely inside the door, hands clenched.

Albia glared at him. “Is now _really_ the time?”

Crossing his arms, Narvin gave Albia a look that Romana knew only too well: it was slightly pompous, extremely arrogant, and annoyingly confident in a way that meant he was about to be insufferably correct. “We’re in a TT Capsule functioning at better-than-average accuracy with one of the best TARDIS pilots in existence. We will land when she wants us to land. So yes, now _is_ the time.”

“I saved you because I was told to,” Albia snapped, all of her attention focused on Narvin. “Which, if you had listened, you would _know_.”

Narvin smirked. “I _did_ listen. Why did you obey?”

Albia’s eyes flickered towards Romana, who sighed.

“I am so slow, aren’t I?” she said slowly, self-depreciatingly. “I should have guessed you were too competent to be mine. So, Coordinator. Who _are_ you working for, if not me? And why are you _still_ working for them? What price could be worth risking your life to save a mere Agent?”

Albia flushed, looking down. “I can’t tell you who I’m working for.”

Romana frowned. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means that whoever it is placed a mental block so I _can’t_ give you any clues,” Albia snapped. “I know, but I can’t communicate it. It was very thorough, I can assure you of that.”

Nearly shivering with anger, Romana stepped forward. “How should I know? How can I trust _anything_ that comes from you right now? You admitted you’re working for someone other than me.”

Albia jerked her chin up, face taut. “You can’t. But there’s nothing you can do to get the information out of me, —” Her voice stopped suddenly, throat working around a word that she could not pronounce. “The person who did this made sure of that,” she said in a rush.

Romana controlled her breathing, keeping the motion of her tubes slow and steady. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have Narvin shoot you right now.” Her voice was cold and menacing even to her; Albia paled suddenly.

“Because you don’t trust Narvin to do that.” In contrast, Albia’s voice shook, barely remaining understandable. The words still rang in the near-silent console room.

Off to the side, Narvin winced, but remained silent.

Romana kept her focus entirely on Albia. “I trust Narvin with my life. Whether I forgive him for what he does with it is another matter entirely.”

Narvin made a choked moaning noise. “Romana—”

Romana ignored him. The effort nearly broke her. “Coordinator, give me a _reason_.” She noticed her slipping shields a moment too late to temper the stabs of anger.

Albia flinched, managing to centre herself quickly and return glare for glare. “Fine. You want to know? Because I was promised the Chapterless. I was told that if I swore an oath on my biodata, I would get information that would let me keep _my_ people alive. And I did. CIA Agents have a shorter lifespan than any Gallifreyan but renegades, did you know that, Madam _President_?” Somewhere, she had found courage and it was all flying out now. “In a war, their life is shorter still—and more worthless. The information I got kept them alive for longer and let me focus our efforts on battles we could win.”

Shocked, Romana took a step backwards at the stream of invective and rage. “And you were going to die for—”

The Coordinator laughed, cutting her off. “What?” she said, still smirking in a strange, twisted fashion. “You think only your supporters are allowed to be noble? I’m sorry, Madam President, but that’s not how this works. We can all be stupid and self-sacrificing. Even if it would make things simpler for you if we didn’t. So yes, I was willing to die for them. I was going to die to finish the contract, because I _said_ I would and because I was able to save more of my people than I ever expected to.”

“The evacuees,” Romana whispered, finally seeing the plan, seeing how badly she had been outmanoeuvred. “You told me you needed your agents for a secret mission. I couldn’t find out what you needed them for, and so—”

“Assigned them to the evacuation crew in greater numbers than any one Chapter in hopes of crippling me.” Albia was still smiling at her, but Romana could identify the emotions behind it now: pain, terror, loss, exhaustion. “Yes. Congratulations. Thereby playing right into my hands. Which would be horrible for you, except I have a vested interest in ensuring that you survive long enough to get a Matrix up, so they’re the most intelligent, most capable, and most loyal that I have. The best of the best. Now. Aren’t you going to shoot me?”

Romana stopped breathing. “Why?”

Albia opened her mouth to respond, and the hivemind, the hivemind that Romana was still tenuously connected to because she was the President, because that was where her power came from, because she had taken her shields down to try to pilot and never put them back up again, because there was no way to block something this big, this deep, the hivemind of every person still on Gallifrey, _the hivemind_ —

Vanished.

Romana staggered as her mind suddenly _emptied_ , a thousand million screaming minds vanishing, two billion freshly Loomed soldiers exploding into nonexistence, and Romana knew the weapon the Daleks must have used, knew that they had destabilized the Eye of Harmony, knew that Gallifrey had spent a split second in glory before collapsing.

Panting, hand clenched on the console, Romana looked up in time to see Albia stumble and Narvin fall to his knees. Both of them looked stricken.

“She’s gone,” Narvin said shakily. “Gallifrey. She’s gone.”

There was no answer to that.


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously:_

_Panting, hand clenched on the console, Romana looked up in time to see Albia stumble and Narvin fall to his knees. Both of them looked stricken._

_“She’s gone,” Narvin said shakily. “Gallifrey. She’s gone.”_

_There was no answer to that._

* * *

 

Romana shoved her shields up in the vague hopes that they would block out the sudden deafening silence, the _lack_ in her head, the emptiness aside from Albia and Narvin and a faint fuzz from the others on the ship.

“We’ll be materializing shortly.” Romana managed to keep her voice reasonably steady and nearly as controlled as her hands. “Coordinator, fetch Leela.” If she trusted anyone, it was Leela; the human was more stubborn than anyone else Romana had ever known, which sometimes caused problems. Since the beginning of the war it had been a blessing, because Leela’s stubbornness displayed itself in the human remaining all but plastered to her side, a source of stability in the middle of the worst war in history.

Back on her feet, Albia gave her a short look. “Of course, Madam President.” She bowed and left the console room.

“Where are we?” Narvin asked quietly; Romana ignored him.

The scanner buzzed into action, displaying a black-haired humanoid female. “This is asteroid KS-159. State your name, something, and something else, or I get to push fun buttons and blow you up.”

“I am the Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar,” her voice stuttered slightly but she kept going, “once of Gallifrey, come to—request hospitality. Braxiatel isn’t expecting us but –”

The woman’s eyes widened, and Romana stopped talking. “Sorry, he’s mentioned you! Right—um… Letting down the barrier now, ma’am.”

Romana sighed. “I’m not being threatened.” Braxiatel had notoriously draconian security measures including a series of questions designed to ascertain if his visitor was being threatened. Apparently the woman had missed that lecture.

The other woman frowned. “No?” Looking down, she ran her hand along something the scanner couldn’t quite see. “Oh! Yes, I’m supposed to check that as well. I assumed…” She cut off, looking back up. “Right, anything else? Weapons to declare? Fruit?”

Quirking her lips, Romana shook her head. “Just an army of Daleks on our tail.”

To her surprise, the woman grinned. “Oh good!”

“Good?” Narvin asked dryly.

“Lowering barriers, just a sec,” the woman said, waving a hand wildly and typing with the other. “Done,” she said after a moment. “Braxiatel is—well, I think he’s sleeping, but he has alarms for the instant a ship lands. Assuming you wanted to see him, I mean.”

Romana frowned, guiding the ship through the barrier around KS-159—better known to Gallifrey as the Braxiatel Collection. “He is sleeping?”

The woman nodded. “He’s done it a lot since Gallifrey shut off communications. Not sure why.”

“He didn’t explain himself?” Romana asked sardonically, already knowing the answer.

With a sigh, the woman began putting the barriers back up. “Not a word. And he’d already evacuated this place—didn’t explain that either, just cleaned out anyone ‘non-essential’, sent them on their way with a retirement package and documents good in seven systems. Not me, of course. Said he still needed me, even though the archaeology seems to be done. Typical.”

“Beginning landing now.” Romana flipped a switch, wishing there was any sort of sentience inside this ship. “It was nice meeting you Ms-?”

“Summerfield,” the woman said, sounding startled. “Bernice Summerfield. See ya soon.” Contact from her end ceased.

Chewing lightly on her bottom lip, Romana began entering the landing sequence.

“Who was that?” Leela asked, crossing the room lightly. Albia followed her, silent.

Romana finished the codes, looking fondly up at her. “Our welcoming party, I believe.”

Narvin stepped away from the wall. He had been uncharacteristically silent, but now had a look of bull-headed determination on his face that Romana recognized. “What are you planning? You cannot _possibly_ be thinking of asking _him_ for—”

“ _Agent_ ,” Romana said coldly. “You _will_ be quiet or I will reassign you.”

Pale and shaking, Narvin looked at her. “Do it.”

Her shields were so tight she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what he might be thinking; she couldn’t let them down or else the silence would come back in. “No,” she told him instead, voice sounding oddly flat even to her ears. “I need you with me.”

The look in his eyes she could read even without telepathy: terror, desperation, betrayal, and a bone-deep loss. “Why? I’m a liability, aren’t I?” His voice broke in the middle in the middle but he barrelled on regardless. “I know my own weaknesses. You above everything else,” he said, depreciatingly self-mocking. “Can you afford that?”

Romana shuddered, taking one deep  breath, and then another. “Do me a favour, Agent,” she snapped tightly, only barely under control, “and do not question my orders again. You will be coming with me. That is _final_ , am I understood?”

“Yes, Madam President,” he said, just as tightly.

Looking down, she sighed. “Come on, Leela.” She turned and walked towards the doors, ignoring Narvin as she passed.

“What about the others?” Leela demanded. “There are so many people in there, when will they be let out?”

Romana paused with her hand on the door, somehow unsurprised that Leela was still thinking of others. “When I am certain we have a place to stay. Until then, they're safest inside.” She fought her emotions to a standstill, shoving them back down. She could not be anything _but_ in control, not here, not now.

Albia made a noise that indicated her disagreement but, to her private satisfaction, didn't say anything as she opened the doors and stepped out.

The other side of the doors proved to be exactly what it should be: an opulent, large reception chamber, complete with couches along the walls and a thick rug in the centre of the floor. “At least we hit it,” Romana said quietly, relaxing. This was KS-159, there was no mistaking Braxiatel's touch in the decorations.

“Fortunate,” Albia sniped as she stepped out of the capsule, “because there's no way to get that thing back in the air, not now.”

Leela made a noise like she was about to speak, but at that moment, the doors opened.

The woman from the scanner—Bernice Summerfield, Romana told herself—came in, swiping hair out of her eyes. "Oh good, I should've thought to warn you not to let everyone out. I—well, I didn't get the chance to tell him, so he might be a bit shocked. You know how he gets."

Romana raised both eyebrows. “A foreign spacecraft landing on his asteroid, and you didn't think to warn Braxiatel?”

“I did,” Bernice snapped, “but I could either warn you or him and frankly—” Her eyes jerked towards Narvin and Albia and their undeniably military uniforms. “He's happier if the droids don't get shot.”

Albia snorted—well at least _someone_ was amused by this. Narvin was silent and still, and Romana knew that if she turned, he would look uncomfortable and distressed. Leela was…Leela, alien and unhappy if others were and without the background or intuition to understand why temporary discomfort might be preferable.

The doors swung open again, and Braxiatel stepped into the room. He looked older than when she had last seen him—no surprise, so did she—but he wore his years in faint lining near his eyes, and a touch of grey at the temples. More telling than that, however, was the grey shade of his skin, the tautness around his lips, his stiff step, all cues pointing to sleepless nights spent in worry. He entered confidently, letting the doors fall shut behind him, but then stopped, eyes landing first on the default grey box of the ship, and then on her. She had never seen him look so shocked. “My lady President.” The words floated out of his mouth, a prayer and a victory call. “I must confess, I was not expecting you. I heard the news.”

Romana froze, frowning. “And how did you do that?” She hadn’t wanted to go on the defensive so soon, but she was already besieged by those who wished to replace her. She _had_ to be able to trust him.

His façade flickered slightly. “I had spies on Gallifrey. One of them was able to announce the Dalek arrival but knew nothing of any escape.”

She only had to look at his eyes to see the rest: _I thought you were dead_. “Braxiatel, I’m afraid I have to beg hospitality.”

“Not a word, not a word,” he said, a false note of ebullience in his voice. “Of course you may stay. Is – just the four of you?” Fear flashed over his eyes, so fast only one well acquainted with him could catch it.

For the first time, Romana let herself feel hope. “No. We saved over four thousand, from all castes. And Leela has the bio-data, in the event we can restore—in the event we can recreate the Matrix.”

Braxiatel smiled, or his version of the expression: a light twist of the lips, relaxation around the eyes. “I have room, so never fear. Your government in exile may have everything it needs.”

“My government in exile,” Romana repeated slowly, words falling off her tongue. “Braxiatel, what exactly do you think is going on here? I don’t have a government in exile. I barely have _me_!”

He gave her a steady look, seeming slightly confused. “You have four thousand Gallifreyans; my lady, I do not see the problem.”

She shook her head. “What government, Brax? The government is the High Council, the High Council derives from the President, the President from the Rod and the Sash and the Great Key of Rassilon. And those items, in turn, are powered by the Eye of Harmony. Which, I don’t know if you noticed, is gone.”

“The Eye may be gone,” Braxiatel said calmly, “but the people are not, and power derives from the people, I know _I_ taught you that.”

Albia cleared her throat, inserting herself into the conversation without any pretence at civility. “Lord Braxiatel, are we even?”

Romana straightened so quickly she felt her neck pop. “ _Brax_?”

He paled. “My lady—”

“She was working for you,” Narvin butted in, having apparently exhausted his minimal patience. “That’s it. She was in _your_ pocket.”

Romana knew Braxiatel well enough to tell the instant he shut down his emotions, closing himself completely off. “I had people on Gallifrey, yes. Can you blame me for wanting to keep an eye on events?”

“I can _certainly_ blame you for not informing me of this,” Romana snapped. “You were spying on me.”

Braxiatel didn’t visibly react—which was in itself a sign she had hit a nerve. “Her cover was n-”

“It was _not_.” Romana stepped forward, feeling herself start to lose control. “It was _not_ necessary, Braxiatel, and I would appreciate it if you would stop lying to me.”

He froze, lips tight. “My lady. Would it be possible for you to do this without the audience?”

She stared at him for a moment, so furious she was shaking, and then relaxed slightly. Turning, she caught Albia’s eye. “Coordinator, I am leaving you in charge of the CIA but restricting their jurisdiction to this asteroid. I do _not_ need your agents getting in the way again.”

Narvin flinched.

“So you are forming a government?” Albia said, frowning.

Romana sighed. “I don’t see that I have many other options. You are dismissed, Coordinator. Go collect your agents and set up a perimeter. I think the Dalek spies are gone but trust no one.” She hesitated, thinking. He wasn’t trustworthy, he _couldn’t_ be but—to hold the discussion without him—after the Axis— “Leave Narvin with me.”

Something worryingly like a smirk crossed Albia’s face. “Madam President.” She bowed slightly and made her way back into the TT Capsule.

“Braxiatel,” Romana said, _not_ thinking about Narvin, not thinking about the conversation she needed to have with him, not _thinking_. “Before I give you the chewing out you so _rightly_ deserve, I need you to put the full resources of the Collection at my command.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have a plan, I take it?”

She gave him a look that said _obviously_ , and he very nearly smirked, the lines around his mouth twitching. “Of course you have them.” He held his hands out. “Anything you want. You know that.”

Romana let herself relax slightly, calling up the emergency plan. There had been plans upon plans upon plans, list after list after list all worked out mentally and never written down for fear of spies. This one was the most likely to succeed if Gallifrey fell. “Then Ms Summerfield, I need you to do something for me.”

Bernice frowned. “Depends on what it is.”

“I need a list of names and locations,” Romana said, eyes fixed on Bernice. “Every one of the Doctor's companions, past, present, and future, and the best possible location to remove them from his timeline.”

The others tensed. “Why?” Braxiatel let the word fall into dead silence, clearly on the edge of working it out.

Romana looked at them—at Leela, volatile yet persistent and so very human, at Narvin, stubborn as a rock but too erratic to trust, at Braxiatel, and his plans within plans, at Bernice, the unknown but if Brax trusted her then surely-? “Because between that list and Braxiatel’s Time Scoop, I can put together a strike force capable of taking down the Daleks.”

“Ah,” Braxiatel said quietly, sounding impressed. “Well plotted.”

Leela frowned, drumming her fingers on her knife hilt. “Plotted _what_? Romana, _explain_ your plans, please. I do not understand. Yes, fight the Daleks, _always_ fight the Daleks, but why are we here and not out fighting them?”

Without thinking, Romana glanced at Narvin, the same faint look of caring condescension on her face as always, the motion identical to the looks they had shared over and over, in the Axis, in the other Gallifrey, in the Matrix, after returning. It wasn’t until Narvin returned the look that she remembered, and composed herself again. “I have to care for my people first, Leela. We’re here because I had to save those I could. Now that we have a safe base we can organize a fight.”

“A fight,” Leela repeated, looking doubtful. “A _true_ fight? Where you face your enemy and hear their screams as they die? Not the one you say you have been fighting?” Leela had supported every one of her decisions as President, but her enthusiasm had always been reserved for the rare times Romana acted as aggressor.

Romana smiled slightly. “Yes. A true fight, as you put it. But the two of us can’t take on the might of the Daleks on our own—as much as you might wish to.”

Leela grinned viciously. “This is _good_. We shall gather our allies and battle the Daleks on our own terms.”

“Yes,” Romana said, inwardly rejoicing because Leela _never_ smiled anymore. She had memories of Leela crying over a guard’s body, of Leela pallid and near sick from exhaustion yet following her around regardless, of Leela covered in blood from a Dalek spy’s throat—but very few of her smiling. “And my thought—but you’re the tactician…”

“The what?”

Romana slowed herself. “The planner. My thought, Leela, was to gather those who had fought the Daleks and _won_. And who better-?”

Leela cackled, eyes sparkling for the first time since the attempted attack on Skaro. Romana had made the last ditch decision to retroactively destroy Skaro and she could remember the bloodthirsty glee on Leela’s face. She could also remember the shrieking pain when the mission warped wrong and ten Time Lords were wiped from existence, could also remember Leela’s worried face bending over her, could also remember Leela’s hand hot in hers. That she could laugh again—Romana could only see that as a good thing. “Than those who have fought with the Doctor! We _always_ won, with him. And when we did not win, we could at least run and fight another day, not this—this hiding in shadows, never knowing who is on whose side—now we shall _know_!”

“Precisely.” Romana returned her attention to Bernice. “Ms Summerfield, I could really use that list.”

The human nodded slowly. “I’ll work on it. Give it to you or to himself?” She made a vague gesture at Braxiatel.

Romana shook her head. “Either will work.”

Bernice sighed. “It’s not the _oddest_ assignment I’ve had.” With a sketchy pseudo-salute, she left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!! I caught a cold and had to deal with that before I was in the mood to upload chapters.

_Previously:_

_The human nodded slowly. “I’ll work on it. Give it to you or to himself?” She made a vague gesture at Braxiatel._

_Romana shook her head. “Either will work.”_

_Bernice sighed. “It’s not the_ oddest _assignment I’ve had.” With a sketchy pseudo-salute, she left the room._

* * *

 

Which left the four of them. Romana jerked her head at Narvin, motioning him over towards Braxiatel. He went with poor grace, shoulders raised and hands held close to his sides.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Romana said quietly, looking at the two of them. “I ask one thing of my people, and that is that you trust me.” Narvin was refusing to make eye contact, shifting awkwardly from side to side; Braxiatel had his gaze fixed on her and was overtly non-committal. “Narvin—Narvin, where do I even _start_? You _ruined_ us. If you had just stayed there—”

“How was I to know?” Narvin burst out, patience evidently exhausted. “You—you vanish, and the Daleks are gone, and _all_ we know is that both of you are inside a Matrix partition with them, and what was I supposed to do?” His eyes tore at her, too full of despair and hate and loss for her to deal. “Let you…” He appeared unable to say the word, although her mind could fill it in well enough: _Let you die?_

The words left her angry more than anything else, driving her to strike back, to defend herself. “ _Yes_ , damn you. My life is not worth the billions that have died, that _are_ dying because _you_ overstepped your bounds.”

Narvin physically flinched. “ _Romana_ ,” he began, voice low and desperate.

“You do _not_ have permission to use that name,” Romana spat, nearly shaking.

He jerked his chin up, biting his lower lip. “My lady President, I was acting in your best interests.”

Her breath hissed furiously out. “Did it _ever_ occurto you that that might not be your job? That the _role_ of Coordinator is to _not_ act in the President’s best interests? Do you know what I think?” she said, unable to hold the words back, unable to keep from forming daggers with them, unable to _stop_. “You’ve been blinded, Narvin. By our former friendship.”

Narvin’s shoulders rose, and he snarled, “You didn’t mind it _before_.”

“ _Before_ we were on the Axis or in one of its branches. _Before_ there were no Daleks. _Before_ I wasn’t trying to avert a genocide by playing the most dangerous deception of my life. _Before_ , Narvin, things were different and your utter _failure_ to understand the change is part of the problem here.”

His chest moved jerkily as he took two deep breaths in quick succession. “If I had not already resigned, _Madam_ President—”

“Is now the time?” Braxiatel interjected. “If nothing else, Narvin could be helping his Coordinator.”

Romana froze, attention turning to him. “I would not be so quick to turn attention to yourself, Braxiatel.”

Tilting his head, Braxiatel made a motion with his hands, as if to say: _Yeah, what of it?_ “Regardless of his past actions, my lady, Narvin _is_ still loyal to you. That is not—”

“Such a common resource as to be thrown away,” Romana finished, remembering the Academy. “Yes,” she said quietly, feeling her anger drain away. Whatever his flaws—and he had many—Brax had a special ability to seamlessly defuse a situation. “Agent, I am assigning you to serve under Albia. This is your _last chance_. Disobey her and you will not remain a citizen of—” her voice stuttered— “of Gallifrey.”

Something darkly sardonic flashed across Narvin’s face and he looked briefly about to speak. Inclining his head just enough to be taken for a bow, he stalked back into the TT Capsule.

Romana sighed, trying not to collapse. “Leela.”

“Are you going to yell at me too?” Leela said harshly, upset. “He did not deserve that, Romana.”

Romana closed her eyes briefly, deciding which part to respond to. “I won’t yell at you, Leela. Not unless you start a war as well.”

Leela snorted. “You have spent the whole war yelling about Narvin. Surely _now_ you can move on.”

She couldn’t find the words to explain why moving on was impossible, why it was so important that she cling to the knowledge that Narvin had betrayed her. “What?” she asked bitterly. “Because I spoke to him? It isn’t that easy.”

“Yelling at him will not help,” Leela said sagely. “You will just find new reasons to be mad.”

Romana turned to face her, hands clenched. “What if I yell instead of committing an atrocity?” The words spilled out, driven a hundred spans of war and horror and tragedy. “What if this is a way—”

“You are driving your friends away,” Leela began heatedly.

“Narvin is _not_ my friend!”

They froze, staring at each other, Romana surprised that the words had left her mouth.

Leela crossed her arms, looking stubborn more than upset. “If I do something you do not agree with, will I no longer be your friend?”

“No!” Romana turned to face her, shocked and afraid, trying to cling to her last base of support. “Leela, no. Never.”

Leela gave her a doubtful look. “But that is what happened with Narvin. Am I different than he? Do you think me _special_? Or is it because I am human?”

Romana forcibly bit back several responses. “Leela, I swear I will discuss this with you _later_. Right now I will say things I don’t mean.” The words stumbled out, hesitant and shaky. Leela had little patience for dissembling, and whatever Romana’s emotions otherwise, Leela did _not_ deserve to bear the brunt. For all that this meant Braxiatel got to see her weak and vulnerable.

Giving her a long, contemplative look, Leela tapped one foot. “I will wait,” she said steadily. She turned to Brax. “Hello, Braxiatel.”

“Hello, Leela,” Braxiatel said, so obviously neutral it was painful.

Leela made an expression that was probably intended to be a smile, but ended up more of a grimace. “I would like to be of use.”

Braxiatel nodded, looking unsurprised. “Of course. If you could, find K-9 and Elbon. While I’m sure the TT Capsule can support everyone, I for one would feel better if the chronarchs were transferred to my TARDIS.”

Leela nodded solemnly and turned back towards Romana. “A fight is not the end of a friendship, remember? We have done this before.”

Romana looked down, letting out a breath she had been unaware she was holding. “Yes,” she said quietly, unable to speak any louder.

Leela grabbed her hand and squeezed it once, the human’s mind pressing against her own and full of worry-love-hurt-support, a mix of conflicting emotions that somehow balanced out to equal affection for Romana. With a soft smile, she ran into the capsule.

Romana took a moment to stand there, staring at nothing, and reorient. “Braxiatel,” she said eventually, voice grim but stronger than before. “You spied on me.”

He had the good grace to nod, briefly meeting her eyes. “I had my reasons.”

She sighed again, wanting a hand to hold more desperately than she had the words for. “Care to tell me what they were?”

Tellingly, he straightened. Romana knew him well enough to read this for the sign it was: Braxiatel _never_ had tells. He prided himself on it. That he was so blatantly advertising his thoughts, even if only to her, was not a good sign.

Romana frowned at him, already changing tacks. She could never get answers out of Brax by asking him straight-on, only by dancing around the subject and herding him into a statement he wouldn’t have previously given. “Why didn’t you come back?”

His eyes met hers again, displaying interest and a faint surprise at her varied tactics. “If you had wanted me back, Madam President—”

“Braxiatel.”

He stopped short, maintaining eye contact. “My lady.”

Romana took half a step towards him. “After my return.” _My_ return. Not _ours_. “You had to have known I was back.”

“I did,” he said, voice neutral.

“Then why not return?” She had to carefully tease apart his plans—he had _so many_ of them—to have any hope at understanding his motivations.

He sighed tightly. “My mirror has not been used in four hundred and seventy two years. It has been that long since I last received a message from a future self.”

Romana knew enough about Braxiatel’s timeline to know how important this was. “You didn’t answer my question. Either of them.”

“Which would you prefer first?” he asked, nastily sarcastic.

She delivered him a point-blank glare.

He sighed, bowing his head. “My pardon, Madam President. I have not been sleeping.”

“Bernice said you were sleeping a lot—even for humans.” She tilted her head slightly, letting him see her curiosity.

Amusement glinted in his eyes, amusement and layers of pain. “If she thinks I am sleeping, she leaves me alone.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And why, Braxiatel, do you want to be left alone?”

He stiffened again. “I recruited Albia because—”

“Vice President,” she said, voice clipped and dry, still interested in why he was spying on her but more focused on what he had been doing. “Why do you wish to be left alone?”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly—the greatest display of anxiety she had _ever_ seen from him. “Madam President, did it ever occur to you that seeing you could pose a danger to me?”

Romana very nearly winced, holding it in only through a wish to keep him talking. “I thought that was done. With the destruction of the Matrix, surely she—”

“There was still enough,” he said flatly, cutting her off.

She managed to keep her emotions off her face only with great effort. “And afterwards?”

He sighed tightly, eyes flicking away. “We were elsewhere. There was no reason to think of her.”

“Then why did you invite us to stay?” Romana asked, frowning.

The look in his eyes told her everything. They were dark and haunted, filled with despair and agony and a heartsbreaking loneliness that she wasn’t sure how to combat. And more than that, he looked in pain.

She jerked forward, barely holding back the urge to grab him, instead fisting her hands in her robes. “Braxiatel, if we – if _I_ am causing you pain, _tell me_. Do _not_ hold that back. _Never_ hold that back.” Somewhere she had forgotten about Albia. The Coordinator scarcely seemed to matter now.

“How tight are your shields, Madam President?” he asked, all professionalism once more.

She frowned, a suspicion worming its way in. “The screams of my dying planet were nothing I wished to hear.”

He looked at her, eyes dead. “And if you lower them, what can you sense?”

After a second, she lowered the outermost of her mental shields, aware that if he was still a danger, she was making herself more vulnerable than either of them were comfortable with. “Albia,” she said quietly. “Narvin. Elbon. Others with them. Leela slightly, in the echoes from Elbon.” She froze, making the connection. “Irving Braxiatel, what did you _do_?”

“I cut it out,” he rumbled, glancing away again.

She frowned, motionless. “You did what?”

His eyes snapped into focus and met hers; his jaw was tight and his hands just as clenched as hers. “I cut my chronal lobe out. She no longer has any hold on me.”

Of all the things she had expected to hear, that was not one of them. “You cut it _out_?”

“It was the only way to be sure.”

Albia could not have been _less_ important. “And so you didn’t return – because of embarrassment?”

He delivered her a look of pure distain. “If you think so, my lady President, then surely it is true.”

“ _Brax_ ,” she sighed **.**

“I did not return because I could be of more use here, preparing a stronghold for you, than I would be on Gallifrey, a political deadweight, holding you back, unable to act because –” He broke off, visibly upset.

“Your _advice_ , Braxiatel. Your caution, your knowledge. _Those_ are what I needed. Not your political ploys or any of that.” She frowned up at him. “Too late now, I suppose. What else?”

He raised his eyebrows. “My lady President?”

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

“I have a decent sized hole in my head,” he said mildly.

She shook her head. “Braxiatel.”

He finally sat in his chair, not looking at her. “I have known my future for my entire life. Nearly five hundred years ago, I ceased to receive visits from future selves.”

“You mentioned.”

“Shortly before the war began, I finished my last correspondence with a past self,” he told her flatly. “I no longer have any temporal force to remain alive.”

She frowned sharply. “If you are suggesting –”

He turned towards her, shock on his face. “No. _Never_. So long as you need me, I shall remain. However, you _do_ need to consider that my death at this point will not cause a paradox. Previously, you had that assurance.”

“As did you,” she said quietly, beginning to understand. “A touch of existential angst, my lord Cardinal?”

He smiled slightly, possibly at the tone of amusement, possibly at the title he technically had no right to. “Perhaps.”

She tilted her head. “Albia was your way of trying to keep an eye on me since you felt you couldn’t return.”

“And because I might—” his voice caught, and he looked away again. “Might die before you are done.”

Romana snorted; the logic was flawed in such a beautifully _Brax_ fashion that she couldn’t help it. “You can’t _buy_ loyalty, Brax. Even if you owned her for a millennia that’s no guarantee she’d choose me over anyone else.”

His lips twitched slightly. “If you believe so, my lady.”

“You should have told me,” she said quietly, taking one last step forward and touching his hands.

He looked down at her, fingers curling around hers. “I…”

She smiled gently, wishing she could press reassuringly against his mind. It was fine, it was alright, he was forgiven—it wasn’t like she had expected much different from him anyway. “I missed you.”

His head jerked, eyes snapping into focus, and she heard his breath stutter. “You flatter me, my lady President.”

She smiled. “You deserve it. We should go align your Time Scoop.”

“Of course…” He paused. “Romana.” Another pause, this time with him frowning outright. “Tomorrow, Madam President, I will have a disability aid.”

Dropping his hands, she said, “I trust you to do what you need.” Somewhat to her own surprise, she meant it.


End file.
